skinny margaritas, skinny jeans, and skinny hopes
by windfish
Summary: fill for au prompt- ghirahim is a lonely hairdresser looking for something or someone to spice up his dull and repetitive life. he meets daddy demise at a bar, and finds himself with a new job offer as a stripper for the fire sanctuary gentleman's club.
1. love on the rocks

**author's notes:** fill for a prompt by a friend of mine. contains accounts of sex, abuse, male-on-male loving and has some other scattered adult content. it's a stripper au, please don't expect this to be very friendly! criticism is very welcome, as well as any reviews or comments or favourites. this is just a collection of stuff from the same au- there may be oneshots within the au i will post alongside this. this is mostly done for funsies and thusly it won't update very regularly.

"Another skinny margarita." His voice was slurred, several glasses in as it were; it took a few tries for his properly sweep across and brush the white fringe of hair out of his eyes. Yes, Ghirahim Laighean was no stranger to the poison of tequila and lime juice, hoping it would take to his liver before the tiring emptiness of his life took to the rest of him. Despite all of his lack of coordination, he found it surprisingly easy to down the beverage, not spilling or shaking any of it out. It was a learned trait, and the way his skilled fingers traced the fine glass attracted the attention of a certain… entertainer, as he would call himself. A man who knew a fabulous set of fingers when he saw them, and could only smile to himself as he saw the moist, petal-shaped lips outlined in what was surely a high-quality lipstick, finally bringing himself to sit to the young man's left as he saw the flash of pink flesh dart out to take in the last drop of tequila perched at the tip of his upper lip.

"Why not go for something a little bigger? You don't need to watch the calories, from where I'm sitting…" He smirked, taking a heavy sip from his pint of ale as he eyed Ghirahim's form. A regal profile, with a narrow, feminine nose, large chocolate eyes, and an exquisite form; slender, but not frail by any means, the plunging neckline of his shirt revealing a web of lithe musculature, and his tight pants doing very little to cover up well-worked legs, crossed somewhat daintily over the bar stool.

"Something a little bigger? Like…" He tilted the mug to his lips, still in the older man's hand, smiling as he licked froth from them afterward. "I dunno, from _here_, you look to be… fairly big, yourself." As slurred as his voice was, Demise couldn't help but find something completely captivating in the voice as it slithered across to him, those perfect lips so close he could smell the hint of lime to his bitter breath, sticky and warm with intoxication.

"Heh." He snorted, taking his mug back. "Don't think the bathroom's open for any… activities, but I've got a limo with directions to my house, if you want, _honey_." He whispered into the rounded ear beside him, tucking soft white strands behind it. Ghirahim gave a lazy smile, crushing his lips against the older, darker male's, the smell of brandy and tequila and hops merging in their mouths as teeth scraped against lips, a particularly skilled tongue working it's way to the roof of the other's mouth.

Demise slapped a fifty rupee bill to the counter as he mouthed "keep the change;" a fairly difficult task with the twenty-seven year old hanging on his lips, as well as his hips. He'd managed to make it to the limo out front in a drunken tango, slender legs rubbing up against his groin and well-manicured nails marking paths against the broad muscles of his back.

"My, you're an easy one to seduce, aren't you?" He kissed him back, pulling him away by the hair so he could kiss him on the neck, nipping just a bit.

"It's not every day someone offers you a limo ride just for drunken sex." Sharp nails dug into his shoulderblades, and he let out a low moan into the tanned skin of Ghirahim's neck.

"But you look so princely! It only seemed to be the least I could offer." A dainty hand snuck into the hem of his briefs, squeezing the firm bubble of flesh it found, smiling up at the older man. "I'd not get too far, if I were you- a prince deserves to lose himself on sheets of the finest silk." His own hands mimicked the younger male's, rough skin stroking the taut skin at the base of his thighs, constricted by the tight denim of his jeans.

"It's a good thing we're here already, then," He whispered into the older male's ear, licking the curve of cartilage. "I'd hate to wait for my knight only to lose my composure." Demise could hardly believe the way his spine bent, dipping low as he kissed collarbones, hips raised, hands still stroking each other's flesh beneath fabric.

"Come here, _prince_," He mouthed at the tender flesh of his neck, eliciting a low, heavy moan. "I won't be leaving you waiting for long." Strong, well-muscled arms lifted the younger male, not missing a moment to run hands over tight flesh or tongues against teeth.

"Mmm, so strong…" A series of drunken giggles overtook Ghirahim as he felt himself carried through the house- not really caring much for the details. "And gentlemanly!"

"As you deserve, of course." He laid him against the silk sheets, pulling out a tube of lubricant, leaving wet trails of saliva down the younger boy's chest, roughly unbuttoning and pulling down the tight denim along his well-toned thighs.

Ghirahim could only giggle as his shirt was rolled up, a heavy blush falling across his face, half-obscured by smeared lipstick and a curtain of platinum hair. Large hands rubbed against his skin, massaging his ribs.

"A little aggressive, aren't you?" There were bites on barely tanned thighs and chest, arm pinned above him by one strong hand as he unzipped himself from his own slacks.

"Every _good _prince has had to suffer to lead his people, don't you know?" He flipped open the lubricant, rubbing himself quickly and sloppily. "But… there's a certain pleasure to the pain."

"Oh, _sweetheart_, I'm no stranger to pain." He wrapped a hand around the rather impressive length of his newfound partner. "I can't say any of the others have been quite so big, though. What was it you said? I should try something bigger?" The smudged lipstick did little to deter him from the tongue carefully taunting him, tequila and lime breathing onto his extremity.

"Heh." A hand wrapped around a surprisingly slender neck, removing his hold on the other arm to move lithe hips into alignment. "The heavier you go, the worse you feel in the morning." He entered him, then, pearl-pink nails digging into his shoulders once again.

"The harder you're hit, the less you remember." There was a sharp moan, wrapping his legs around his ribs.

"What's a pretty face like you got to forget?" Demise exhaled, impressed by the apparent flexibility.

"Goin' to work at a shitty nine to five job and coming home to nothing, mostly." The slur seemed more pronounced, his voice gliding in bitterness and lust.

"You deserve more than that." Warm breath glided over his chest, kissing the smooth, supple skin just above his breastbone. If he'd not been so consumed by their act, he might have heart his heart skip a beat just below.

"Tell that to my ex. We were gonna build a new world together, but then he dropped me for someone with a tighter ass." He craned his back, hoping to get just a little bit deeper- it would be nothing more than pain, but these days, he didn't know the difference between pain and pleasure, and felt a jolt as his most sensitive areas were rubbed.

"Sounds to me like he's the one missing out." He shifted, holding one large hand flat against Ghirahim's chest, the other wrapping around his dick, lazily pumping as he thrust. "I'm not sure if I've seen anyone with a better ass, myself."

"Well aren't you flattering." He wrapped his thighs around thick hips, running feet up his back, wrapping one leg around his mid-back and letting his toes tangle in the hair at the nape of his neck, pushing his own hips down and up, competing with the older male's rhythm.

There was a sudden tightening of limbs, then, fingers curled in silk sheets, toes wrapped in ruddy blonde hair, sharp, dark nails digging into a tanned chest, and the two cried out, a strangled yelp and a deep moan.

"_Damn_." His breathing was shuddering, legs quivering as they slowly lost their grip on Demise's back. "Maybe… heh, maybe I really have just… needed to go a little harder, this whole time." He flinched as the older male drew out, laying flat on the king-sized bed as stars danced in front of his eyes, slowly rolling his shirt back down.

"Heh. You're not so bad, yourself. Those legs of yours… where did you learn something like _that_?" He laid down next to the younger male, a hand on well-toned thighs.

"Ballet classes." He smirked, wiping smudged lipstick off with a trembling hand. "Took them all through school. You like it?"

"Yeah." He inhaled, taking in the scent of sex and alcohol. "I don't think I caught your name."

"It's not important, you're just gonna forget me in the morning." His tongue danced on a "they all do," deciding the words didn't need to be said. Pity wouldn't get anyone to keep his number any better than ten years of splits and training would, after all. "Unless you don't mind me crashing here for the night. You can forget me in the afternoon."

"Of course you can stay, little prince." Calloused hands traced the curve of his jawline, thumb brushing hair out of the way. "Could I at least have your number?"

"O-oh." He tried to keep his heart from leaping out of his chest, deciding to err on cynicism. "I'm pretty high maintenance. A prince needs more than just a good fucking every now and again, you know."

"What else do you need, my prince?" He smiled playfully, worn hand going through his hair. "Fame? Fortune? I could give you anything you need."

"Someone to talk to, mostly." He buried his face in the pillow, not wanting to comment that he wasn't some twenty rupee whore; he didn't want his number scrawled on bathroom walls, "call laighean for a good time," he didn't want bills left on his bed in the morning in exchange, he just wanted something to last more than eight hours for once.

"I'm talking to you now, aren't I? You could at least give Daddy D a name for such a pretty face, honey."

"_Ghirahim_. Ghirahim Laighean." He mumbled into the pillow, looking up to the golden eyes staring at him with a certain warmth.

"What a regal name. It's very fitting for you. Surely you would like more than just someone to talk to? A new job? Money?"

"Mmm, no… I spent two years of my life training for cosmetology, I couldn't just quit that." He sighed, bare legs starting to ache from cold, sitting up to try to at least find his boxers.

"How about a weekend job? I wouldn't wanna see someone as cute as you dying of alcohol poisoning so early in his life. It'd be good for you to get away from those bars, you know."

"_Oh_?" He couldn't help but feel a sudden rush of excitement; as much as he enjoyed his life in the hair and nail salon, it grew a bit boring, day after day, seeing the same regulars. "And what did you have in mind, _Daddy_? You some sort of pimp?"

"Like I'd let my prince be touched by all sorts of horny folk." He snorted, "No, I run the Fire Sanctuary gentleman's club. You've got a lot of talent, you know- I bet you'd be a natural at the poles."

"You want me to be a _stripper_?" There was a hint of disbelief to his voice, pulling his pants on, slowly, not really caring to clean himself up first or finding his missing underwear.

"You've got the looks, the talent, and I'm sure my little prince would like to show off. Those tight pants… you're not really hiding much."

"Yeah, not much, except a sore ass." He groaned, not bothering to button or zip them up before flopping back, wincing as he crossed his legs. "Sounds fun." He giggled a bit, covering his naked lips. "You should flaunt it if you've got it, right?"

"Do you have that phone number I was asking for? You can start next week, if you'd like. I'll ask my seamstress to make some… adjustments to our clothing. I'll get her to call you later and get your dimensions."

"Yeah, here." He fished around his pockets for a pen, writing the number down in felt-tip on an arm that was dense with muscle. "So you can remember to call me if you're feeling horny, too." He winked, patting the right arm.


	2. diamond in the rough

**author's notes: **just more of the same... getting to the good parts, as i would hope for them to be found. (the music for his strip number is his theme, more or less.)

The next morning he felt he'd ruined his chance, barely making it off the bed before vomiting foul, acidic liquid onto the fine carpet in Daddy D's master bedroom. He wiped hair out of his eye, trying to wake the older man as gently as possible, nudging his shoulder with a groan as his lower body ached.

Before he could wake him, he stumbled into the restroom, cradling the toilet as he vomited twice more. He couldn't stand the mornings after, but felt at least a little pride in the fact that there wasn't a tell-tale white liquid burning in the porcelain bowl this time. The ache at his lower back and the stickiness at his thighs told him, however, that his pride was undeserving. When he got back to his apartment, he'd certainly be nursing his lidocaine as well as his crackers and ginger ale, he knew, feeling warm hands pull and pin the hair out of his face as he vomited again.

"Don't worry, this certainly isn't the worst I've seen." The warmth was present in his voice, as well, and he couldn't bring himself to look into those burning eyes, retching over the no-doubt expensive toilet bowl. "Do you need to stay here for the day? I'm free."

"I'd hate to be a bother." He wiped the back of his hand across his lip, washing his hands and face as he avoided looking to the mirror at all costs. He knew he looked like hell; he always did, without his cosmetics and with the knowledge of another shameless fuck the night before.

"Nonsense. We could get to know each other, maybe Allus could come over and get those measurements done." He rested a warm hand on the feverish face, running fingers through tangled platinum hair.

"Five and a half inches." He winked, dragging a tongue across the finger by his lips, leaving a trail of saliva.

"That doesn't sound like much to brag about, to me."

"There's another thirty inches in the legs." As if to illustrate his point, he ground his knee against the space between Demise's legs, feeling the rising bulge to his rough ministrations. He smiled, kissing the rounded ear before whispering, "And I _know_ that's something to brag about."

"It's hardly eleven in the morning, you know. Isn't it a little bit early to be getting so riled up?" He felt lithe, strong arms curling around his neck and shoulders, not really caring for the answer. "I need to wash the sheets."

"Heh, I'll just have to make sure to clean up, won't I?" Ghirahim slid his arms down, trailing along a well-muscled back and settling at his slacks, kneeling as he bowed his head. "There won't be a mess, I promise."

"No, I simply can't," Demise lifted Ghirahim's head to make eye contact with him, "I'd hate to tire you out. Besides… I was hoping that you could show me what you could _really_ do, without that pretty little mouth of yours."

"Oh?" He smiled, hardly considering his mouth to be _pretty_, especially given the lack of cosmetic backup. "Was last night not enough for you?"

"I meant on the poles." He dialed a number on his phone, paging for a maid to come in and clean up the mess the two of them had made, turning it back to stand-by.

"I'm hardly at dancing potential like this." He motioned to his tangled hair and smudged and absent makeup.

"Would my prince like a chariot ride home?" Daddy D smiled, "I'll pay cab fare. Just call me when you're ready to go to the club, I'll come pick you up." He pulled a card out of the drawer of his nightstand, slipping it- and a fifty rupee bill- into the back pocket of his jeans as he leaned down to kiss him.

The cab fare certainly hadn't been fifty rupees, and he pocketed the nearly thirty rupee change before limping his way up the stairs to his second floor apartment As skilled as he was at hiding the results of sex, he couldn't help but smirk at how _lasting_ Daddy D's had been. It was something he wouldn't mind growing used to.

Ghirahim opened the door, pulling his shirt off as he closed it behind him with his foot. He walked through his room, quickly pulling out a fresh pair of underwear- wondering if he'd ever find his other pair, or if he should consider it a loss- and a towel, sauntering to the bathroom. He finished stripping, throwing his clothes in the hamper, bedore turning the shower faucet as hot as it could go. He had to make sure he was clean and at his best if he was going to give the older man a show, of course- running shampoo through his hair and scrubbing himself with a special-ordered rose otto oil body wash.

After drying himself and reapplying his makeup, he made his way to the walk-in closet, carefully choosing something to please Daddy D- tight black jeans, ripped at the knees and nearly every three inches above and below, tanned skin showing through in gaps, a black wifebeater with silvery diamond and triangular patterns, and a white button down with the first several buttons undone. He looked in the full-body mirror on the back of the door, admiring himself before putting on his black pair of shoes and dialing the number on the business card.

"Are you sure you can move in _denim_?" Demise laughed, taking in the smaller form in his office.

"It's gonna be coming off anyway, isn't it?" Ghirahim smiled, covering his mouth with the tips of his fingers.

"Fair enough. Let's go to the practice room, why don't we?" He unlocked the door behind his desk, motioning for Ghirahim to follow. It was empty enough, with a few chairs and lights set up around a single stage with a pole, and an older, worn tapedeck to the back.

"I hope this isn't what _all_ the VIP rooms look like." He scoffed, looking at the scarce furnishings.

"No, this is quite exclusive- for, should I call it, _private_ lessons." Demise sat beside the tapedeck, motioning for Ghirahim to take to the stage. "Shall we go on?"

"Whenever you're ready, _Daddy_." He stepped up to the pole, grasping it with his one hand as he winked to Daddy D, moving to straddle it as the music started playing- something nearly ominous, with piano and a bit of a twinkle playing up as it started to go just a bit faster. It reminded him of diamonds and magic, and he closed his eyes as he began to move, rocking his hips and lifting a leg up and down the pole, switching and repeating, moving his arms up to grab at the pole above him.

The music grew faster and added castanets; he took this as his cue to unbutton his shirt further, slowly pulling one sleeve off, and then the other, looking back to his "audience" as he deposited the shirt at his feet, pulling the second shirt off a little faster, still grinding himself against the pole, holding it to him with experienced legs. He couldn't help but tease Demise a little, pushing a hand into his pants as he licked the pole, fingers obviously working at himself under the tight fabric, unbuttoning it from inside and sliding the zipper down with a slim finger.

"My, my." He brought his hands into something of a clap as he managed to unclothe the pants, slipping out of his shoes as he brought his legs up and slid the denim off slowly. Clad in only a thong (red with golden accents- a personal favourite of his), then, he climbed the pole, holding his upper body up as he kicked upward with his legs, bringing his knee to his nose as the other was held straight. As the music died down, he took it as his time to end the "performance," wrapping his knees around the pole and dragging himself down.

"I hope I didn't disappoint."


End file.
